Doggy Paddle & Deep Waters

Maya's phone buzzed with another text from the group chat: *pool party @ Jake's, 2pm. Be there or be square.*

She stared at her ceiling fan, already doing mental gymnastics. The issue wasn't Jake — he was cool, borderline bae material. The issue was the swimming part. Maya, a sophomore who'd somehow made it sixteen years without properly learning to swim, was about to be exposed in front of half the sophomore class.

"You're overthinking again," her best friend Zara had said the day before. "Just doggy paddle it. Literally no one cares."

Easy for Zara to say. She was on the swim team.

Maya dragged herself to the backyard, where Buster, their elderly golden retriever, was already mid-splash in the kiddie pool her little sister had abandoned years ago. The water barely reached Buster's knees, but he was living his best life, ears flopping, looking like the definition of unbothered.

"At least someone's having a good summer," Maya muttered, sitting on the edge of the porch.

Buster waddled over, dripping wet, and nudged her hand with that wet nose. His whole vibe screamed *it's not that deep, literally.* And honestly? Maybe he was right.

Her phone dinged. *Jake's gonna be there... just saying.* from Zara.

Maya looked at Buster, who'd returned to his personal ocean, doing something that could only be described as geriatric swimming. If this old boy could embrace the water with zero shame, maybe she could too.

"Fine," she said, standing up. "Let's do this."

That afternoon, Maya showed up to Jake's pool party wearing a cute swimsuit she'd actually felt confident buying. She didn't swim laps or show off perfect form. She stayed in the shallow end, splashed water at her friends, and yes — doggy paddled when necessary.

Jake, it turned out, was terrible at swimming too. They spent an hour comparing their lack of skills while sitting on the pool steps, knees touching, making terrible jokes about who would drown first during the zombie apocalypse.

"Worst case," Jake said, pushing his wet hair back, "we can ask Buster to save us."

Maya laughed. "Buster would probably just try to be friends with the zombies."

And somehow, between the bad swimming, the awkward flirting, and the realization that everyone was just faking confidence anyway, Maya had her first real moment of being exactly who she was — no filters, no pretending. The water wasn't so deep after all.